


One Small Difference

by a_pocket_full_of_fancy_words



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Worship, Dirty Talk, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Massage, Mildly Dubious Consent, Porn With Plot, Prostate Massage, Set just BEFORE TWS, |Very Mild Body Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:33:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2073522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_pocket_full_of_fancy_words/pseuds/a_pocket_full_of_fancy_words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is the same except for one small difference: Sam is an erotic massage therapist, and Steve has some left over hangups about accepting touch.<br/>They were practically made for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Small Difference

**Author's Note:**

> Dubcon: Steve isn't always that enthusiastic in his consent but he is 100% on board.

"You could try masturbating in front of a mirror?" Dr Kumana suggests with what is clearly meant as a sympathetic smile, but might better be described as both hungry and amused. "Really get to know your body."

"I’ve—"  _Tried masturbating. I don’t have a_ _ **problem**  with masturbating, I can touch myself just fine. I just can’t let anyone  **else** touch me. _Steve sighs, feeling too resentful at having opened up to her to be met with useless advice. “Fine.”

"All you need is your hand and some lubricant to keep things nice and smooth," She continues, as though she’s just invented Vaseline and nobody knew how to crack one off in the 30s. "I know it can come with a lot of shame, but really it’s perfectly…"

Steve drifts out of the uncomfortable conversation. 

He’d gotten over the obviously  _crushing_  shame of jerking off pretty much as soon as realised he could do it, and he’s never had much of a problem with getting it up, thank you very much.

"Right, thanks," Steve cuts in as she moves into the realm of premature ejaculation.

"Really?" Dr Kumana sounds unconvinced. 

It must be the energy in his voice. “Yup, you cured me. Thanks doc.”

 

 

"So what do you do?" Steve asks, realising that he’s had brunch with Sam twice now and he still doesn’t know what the man does for a living or if he works full time at the VA. 

Sam swallows his mouthful and takes a thoughtful sip of his orange juice. “I… Retrained as a… Kind of therapist after I got home.”

"Like a counsellor?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Sam shakes his head and grins, like he knows something too hilarious to tell Steve. "The VA gig I picked up off the old group leader after he moved to Ohio. I’m as much an attendee as the facilitator."

"So what "kind of therapist" are you?" Steve doesn’t want to sound too interested, even though he finds that he is. He’s aware that desperation is not considered an attractive trait. How long does one need to know someone in the twenty-first century before it's okay to ask if they like men? 

Sam laughs and responds through his mouthful, “The physical kind. You know, help people… Get back to where it’s at.”

"And that’s how you get away with not working mornings?" Steve watches Sam lick a stray drip of coffee running from his finger to his wrist and tries to move so that the cafe’s rather paltry excuse for a table covers his crotch better. 

"Mhmm," Sam says, oblivious (Steve hopes). "I can choose my own hours. I run two groups at the VA, the Sunday and Wednesday one, and the Tuesday Thursday one, and the rest of my hours are flexible, so I usually keep my mornings for myself."

Steve is grateful; he’s beginning to like his new morning routine. 

 

 

He does try the mirror thing. It’s not very comfortable and frankly, his cock is getting cold. It’s good - it’s  _fine._  It’s exactly how he knew it was going to be, but with a better view of his own asshole. 

Steve shoves a finger in for old time’s sake, and immediately regrets that he hadn’t cut his nails when he'd meant to this morning. 

Knowing that this is preparation for something…  _Else_  is actually turning him off; straddling a mirror hasn’t gotten him in the mood at all. 

Maybe he’ll just cut those nails now, since he’s already in the bathroom…

 

 

Strangely enough, he can get off perfectly fine in the shower, even watching his own hand doing the dirty work. Thinking of a pink tongue and all the places it could chase just one drop of coffee.

 

 

Steve feels extremely guilty the next time he sees Sam. Why he would even imagine that Sam wants him in any context outside friendship is beyond him. 

It would be easier to stop imagining if Sam would just stop sucking on that ice pole and watching Steve. 

"What’s on your mind?" He asks, tongue blue. 

"Nothing," Steve says, far too quickly. The images are helped from his mind when Sam’s pearly blue teeth crush what’s left of the popsicle and the problem abruptly goes away. Steve has to clear his throat to respond properly. "Nothing at all. So, had any interesting physical therapy clients recently?"

Sam laughs hard, like Steve’s told a brilliant joke. Maybe the one about the French golfer. “Oh man, if only you  _knew_ , uh, some of the clients I see!”

He pats Steve hard on the shoulder before he dissolves into laughter again, and continues to laugh until the moment to ask more questions has well and truly passed. 

 

 

He probably shouldn’t. Not with a fan. But really, Kaitlin  _is_  beautiful. And she’s already half naked, so backing out now would be awkward, especially since it was he who took her bra off. 

"Naww, come on Cap! Let me touch you!" She pleads, and Steve realises (doesn’t realise, is brought  _back_  to the painful awareness) that he’s still fully dressed and he’s holding both her hands so she can’t use them. 

"Uh… Sure, okay," He stammers slightly. Oh God. He doesn’t want her to think it’s his first time.

He lets go of her hands and Kaitlin immediately places both of them on his waist. He finds himself greatly concerned with what she’ll find when she slides her hand round his back, even though he knows…

…Her hand goes up under the front of his shirt instead, and suddenly Steve is not on the bed with her at all but standing next to it. “I have to go.”

"But it’s your apartment!" She cries as he shoves his feet into his shoes. 

"Yeah, sorry, urgent," He replies as he scoots out the door.  Correction: Backing out  _now_  would be awkward. Backing out now with the world’s most obvious lie? Well, he just has to hope never to see her again. 

 

 

Steve has a therapist of his own, and he tells him about it at their next meeting. 

He calls his therapist Gavin because that’s his name and he isn’t technically a doctor of anything. 

"I can see how you might’ve felt you had to leave," Gavin hooks one knee over the other and places his hands in his lap. "But you needn’t feel pressured into sex. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, especially if you don’t really want to be doing it."

"I’ve  _had_  sex,” Steve doesn’t snap, reigns it in until he just sounds irritated. “I just can’t have it  _any more_.”

“So tell me, what’s changed since your last sexual encounter that’s stopping you from having the next one?”

His body? The century? The fact that his only previous sexual partner is listed as Killed In Action? Maybe it had started when he met Peggy, or maybe it was later. For some reason, he doesn’t want Gavin to know. 

"I just… I honestly have no idea."

"I see," Says Gavin, who doesn’t. "Perhaps touching your own body a bit more would help you familiarise…"

 

 

It’s reached a point where Steve is seriously considering telling Sam he has a bad leg, or a stiff back, or maybe carpel tunnel in his hand, just to see if he can't get any more physical contact out of it. 

But even if Steve could lie, Sam would probably feel his perfectly healthy muscles and pronounce them to be fine, or else he’d milk what he could get so thoroughly that people would be able to see him getting off on it through a solid brick wall. 

"She’s cute," Sam notes over their brunch. It's brunch number 16, making this Steve’s most committed relationship with someone who isn’t paid to be around him since 1945 - although, technically, Peggy  _was_  paid to be around him, but he likes to think she’d’ve kissed him and drank with him in bombed out cloches anyway. Their waitress is cute. 

"So’s the waiter," Steve says, before he can stop his damn mouth. He supposes it's as good a way to hint at an interest in men as any.

Sam gives him an appraising smirk that he just can’t place. “…So he is. You should ask him out, it’s probably already his dream come true to have you in his restaurant, I bet he’d come back to yours after work without a second thought.”

Steve chokes slightly at his frankness. “No.”

"Why not?" Sam asks, a little cautious. He doesn’t seem to be acting any different, but Steve can tell a small part of him has shut off until he hears the reason for Steve’s flat refusal. 

"I…" He swallows. He has quite a long list of reasons, both true and fictional, but if he doesn’t want to say that he has eyes for someone already, or that he’s not into men when, well, he’s been waiting for a good moment to imply that he  _is_ for quite some time, he’s left high and dry. “Um, when other people uh, touch me, I kind of… Freak out.”

Sam’s barriers drop again, and he looks at Steve a little strangely. 

The cute waiter arrives quite suddenly with their bill, and somehow, the conversation is closed off by the interruption. 

 

 

_I’ve got pizza going if you wanna come over?_

Text isn’t really Steve’s medium, but he’s been feeling anxious and a little embarrassed all afternoon, so he texts back straight away.

 _Srue if you wnat me to._ He can’t press these tiny damn buttons. Maybe if more people texted him he’d learn.

 _Well, I did just invite you…_ Comes the reply, and  _oh_ , of course he did. 

_Alright, see you soon._

 

 

"This is probably gonna sound really creepy," Sam says in lieu of "hello" as he opens the door. It’s not Steve’s favourite conversation starter.

"What is?" He has to ask. Sam’s lights are all oddly dim, but maybe that’s normal. He’s never been here at night before, after all. 

"I mean, if you just want pizza, there’s pizza, that’s cool. No obligations," Sam seems to be rambling, and he still hasn’t led Steve into the living room or kitchen. "I don’t want you to think I tricked you or anything.” 

"Huh?" Steve takes them through to the kitchen, because he follows the smell of food at the best of times and he has no idea what’s going on. The kitchen, at least, is properly lit. 

"I was thinking about what you said earlier, and I thought that maybe, I mean, only if you want, but maybe I could help you?" Sam looks flushed and uncomfortable and there’s an uncertainty to his voice that has no place with someone as smooth as Sam usually is. 

It takes a moment to sink in, and Steve’s own windpipe chooses to close up. “Uh, you mean?”

It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the sentiment. He does, really  _really_  does. But in the past, wanting someone hasn’t exactly been enough to overcome whatever the hell this is. 

"No," Sam says, and then, "Yes. I mean. You know I’m a therapist, so…"

Steve goes crimson, “Sorry, I… Shit.”

Shit seems to sum it up nicely. How obviously desperate can he get? Why would he assume Sam wanted to — to do anything other than talk it out? 

"I know I said I was a physical therapist, but I actually, um, specialise in one particular muscle." Is Sam trying to tell Steve he’s a prostitute? It kind of seemslike he is. But then, he’s probably only embarrassed by Steve’s stupid assumption. “I mean, not exactly. I’m a… Kind of sex therapist actually.”

Steve blinks. Is that a thing now? “A… What?”

"I do erotic massage therapy. I guess you could say that makes me a double EMT," Sam licks his lips in the face of Steve’s confusion. "Damn, I thought you’d get that joke. You know, 'cos when I was a pararescuer I had to train... Nevermind. There’s no obligation, I just thought it might be nice— I mean, that maybe I could help you out."

Steve is beginning to wish they’d just gotten straight onto the pizza, but the question is out there now, the offer of touch he’d been trying to get even though he knew he’d never be able to accept it. Only it’s too obvious, Sam will either freak him out or it really won’t take him long to figure how much Steve is enjoying himself.

"What… What would this entail?" He asks, against his own better judgement. 

"Well," Sam leans awkwardly against the counter, not quite facing him. "Usually you’d be referred to me by another therapist who thought it would be helpful, but I guess it’s more like a normal massage in a lot of ways, but if you like, I can help you, you know, relax certain muscles in your pelvis, or I can help you get relaxed and turned on," Sam’s voice slips into something much more professional. "I see a lot of different bodies in my line of work, and I can stop doing something the moment you ask. Maybe it will help you to be able to accept that kind of touch."

There’s a silence which is clearly meant for Steve to respond. “I… Don’t know if it’s… Appropriate.”

Sam gives him another look, a little confused, a little hurt, but mostly understanding. “Okay, that’s fine. Is it alright for me to ask why?”

Steve now wishes they were back in the dimly lit hallway. “I, I, uh… Well, um, you’re a really, uh neat guy, and, it… Probably wouldn’t be um, appropriate to let you, you know, touch me, since, uh, I would have some, other, uh motives, I guess…”

"I have no idea what any of that means," Sam tells him. "I know what I hope it means, though."

Steve doesn’t think he’s obliged to reply, but… “It would be inappropriate because I kind of… Like you.”

Sam smiles, which is a relief if nothing else. “You know that would be okay by me, right?”

"It would?"

They end up eating pizza on the couch and watching a lot of TV. 

"So, have you never?" Sam wants to know as Steve flicks through the options on Netflix - don’t let it be said that he hasn’t learnt to use that piece of twenty-first century technology.

"Yeah, I have. Before… You know Bucky," Steve replies, not looking up from the screen. 

"Know  _of_ , yes," He can feel Sam watching him. 

"Well… With him— I was with him for a while. Eleven years, actually." Steve’s chest is heavy with the memory. He makes a conscious decision not to bite his lip.

"Shit. That’s one thing the history books never mentioned."

Steve has to snort at that, because it’s not like it  _wasn’t known_ before the beginning of the war. Known and either hurled in his face, or carefully avoided. “Well now, it wouldn’t do to have a queer as the poster boy for the army, would it?”

"...So how come he could touch you?" Sam needles, setting aside his crust so that it lines up to form an empty ring.

Steve can only shrug. “I guess… It was kind of too late, in a way? It’s not like I hadn’t been sharing my baths with him since we were kids, or like he never saw me get changed. It was too late to hide it all. He'd always been touching me. And now that he's not here...”

The conversation has taken a turn for the melancholy, so neither of them carry it on - but at the end of the evening, they set a date, Saturday afternoon, just to give it a try. 

 

 

"Nervous?" Sam asks, setting down his stuff in the hallway. 

Steve shrugs, assuming that the answer will be obvious enough. 

"No need to be." He smiles reassuringly. "Would you prefer to be on my table or we could do it on your own bed?"

"Do you often do pe- I mean,  _massage_  people in their own bed?” Steve questions, trying to gauge the relationship.

"Nope, bed’s the wrong height if you don’t want to have to get on it yourself," Sam's smile turns devious. "Before we do this, just how far are you happy for this…  _Massage_  to go?"

"Uh, shall we just… See?" Steve doesn’t want to sound like he’s pressuring for something Sam doesn’t want to give, after all. Unless he does want to give it, and Steve can maybe even accept it, in which case, yes please.

"Sure. Anything you don’t like, anything hurts or you just want to stop, you say, right? So, you want "the bed" then?" Sam stops at a photo of Steve and Bucky in the hallway. Underneath it is one of Peggy and Steve before the serum, both pouring over a file that Steve can never for the life of him remember the contents of. It had seemed very important at the time, but now the moment only exists as a single, solitary photo. 

"Yeah," Steve replies, trying hard not to think about the pictures. "So, what should I wear?"

"Um, just this," Sam says, bending down and tugging something out of his bag. 

"Oh." Despite having seen people getting massages on TV, and knowing that Sam did whatever weird sexual massages he does, he was still somehow picturing himself lying on the bed in his pyjamas, socks, possibly a bullet proof vest, or maybe his uniform… Not a single, soft towel. "Okay."

He leads Sam through the apartment to the bedroom. 

"Nice," Sam comments, appraising the record player and some of Steve’s surviving possessions from the 40s on the way past. 

Steve is too nervous to thank him though. “Do I… Just, like, strip here, or..?”

"Well I probably will see all of you in the massage if all goes to plan, but if it would be more comfortable I could step outside and look through all your records whilst you get ready?" Sam offers.

Steve shuts himself in his room to gather himself, trying to soothe the jumble of nerves and apprehension which have taken residence in the pit of his stomach.

[Hoagy Carmichael’s Stardust](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j2fbOAyNOpM) drifts under the door, making him feel like he’s doing some kind of melancholy strip tease. He squeezes his eyes shut as he pulls off his shirt, feeling tears burn behind the lids when he opens them, half expecting to see Bucky standing in front of him, or Peggy in her civvies, heels snapped together out of habit.

Now would be a really bad time to cry. 

He wraps himself in the towel like a protective cloak and doesn't open the door until the song ends. 

Sam is clearly concerned by his wan face. “Are you alright, man? You look a little…”

"I’m fine," Steve sighs. 

Looking thoroughly unconvinced, Sam takes a hold of the edge of the towel and pushes it down below Steve’s shoulders without unwrapping it. “You wear it like this, see?”

Steve shudders at the touch, can’t distinguish a bad shudder from a good one. Nods. 

"Now you’re just gonna lie face down on the bed to start, just lay down and relax for a minute while I get things ready," Sam herds him towards the bed and Steve goes, lying down carefully so as not to disturb the towel and keeping his head to the side to watch Sam flit about the room. 

Sam rolls up something soft and places it beneath Steve’s forehead, and puts a thin cushion under his chest. He then holds two bottles under Steve’s nose.  ”Which of these do you prefer? Or we could go with something else, I have loads to choose from.”

"The first one," Steve chooses. Sweet, heady, a little floral.

"Jasmine it is," He can see Sam smile out of the corner of his eye. "Since your lights don’t have dimmer switches, how do you feel about candles?"

"Candles are nice," Steve says, feeling a little restless in the fully lit bedroom anyway. 

He can hear the sizzle of matches and smell the burning wood, and ends up worrying about the fire alarm going off just so he doesn't have to worry about anything else.

Then Sam turns out the lights, everything softens at the edges and it nothing feels quite so urgent any more. 

"How do you feel?" Sam asks. 

Steve can hear a bottle being uncapped; Sam rubs his hands together. “Kind of… Nervous.”

"Where is the worst place to be touched for you? Would you feel alright if I started with your shoulders and neck?" Sam’s fingers ghost over the top of Steve’s spine. 

"I don’t know," Steve answers for both questions. "Maybe."

He twitches slightly as Sam’s hands come properly into contact with his shoulders. He strokes them first, smoothing on the fragrant oil, and then kneads closer to his spine, before seeming to gently lift different muscle groups up separately. It’s less firm than Steve had imagined it being, and intimate in a very different way. He supposes it's meant to be, that this massage isn't meant to soothe aching muscles or feel like a typical spa treatment, not that he's had many of those.

Sam rubs both shoulders with his thumbs in wide, smooth circles and Steve feels his head sagging into the forehead pillow. The candles must also be jasmine scented, or maybe there’s an oil burner out of his line of sight, because the smell permeates everything. 

"How are you feeling now?" Sam asks again, low and calm.

"A little better," Steve murmurs as Sam works both his upper arms at the same time, and then moves to concentrate on his left. He's not sure he feels turned on; a little sleepy, perhaps.

"That’s good," Sam’s gentle voice washes over him as he swaps sides. "How would you feel about me putting the towel down lower?"

"Sure," Steve sighs, ready to agree to almost anything, but as Sam’s fingers hook under the thick material, he tugs it back up sharply. "Sorry! Sorry," He stammers, mortified. 

"Hey, you don’t have to apologise," Sam says without missing a beat. He goes back to Steve’s now-tense shoulders, working out the same knots a second time. "It’s alright. We don’t have to do your back if you don’t want to, or if there’s anything that you think would make it easier for you, we can do that."

"Maybe you should go first," He suggests, even though he can’t really see Sam. 

"You want me to take my shirt off?" Sam laughs softly. 

"No need to be nervous," Steve jokes, not his best ever. "I won’t judge, promise."

"Sure you won’t," Sam tuts, but Steve can hear the slide of material before Sam’s hands are back on his neck. "So, does that mean you’d like a second attempt?"

Sam strokes his back through the towel, once and quickly, but it still sends a shudder through him of the definitely-not-good variety. It’s odd, doesn’t feel like his back. He’d never wanted his sharply curved spine when he’d had it, been bullied and teased and picked on for it, but now, all straightened out, it doesn’t seem to belong to him at all. The idea of Sam running his hands over Steve’s back and feeling somebody else’s bones is stuck in his head, and the thought repulses him. 

"Yeah," He says, even though he’s not at all certain. 

"Why don’t you take the towel off yourself this time?" Sam offers. "And I’ll just work lower real slow so you can ask me to stop whenever?"

Steve tugs the towel roughly on both sides before he can change his mind, only realising he’s exposed his ass a moment too late. His arms twitch to do something about it, to knock Sam away and pull the towel back up and then dress in something nice and secure and opaque. 

"It’s alright," Sam croons, lightly scraping his fingers only ever slightly lower than he had been before. "Is this alright?"

"Yeah, it’s… It’s okay." Candlelight doesn't show crimson up too well, which is a relief since Steve can feel it creeping down his neck.

Sam works his way down another couple of inches and then right back up again. He moves round closer to Steve’s head and begins to gently massage his scalp with the tips of his fingers. 

Steve cracks an eyelid to look at the rippling muscle and the well defined stomach, brown and dancing gold with the candlelight. His hand drifts out to touch without his permission, absently stroking at the smooth skin to the left of Sam’s belly. 

Sam doesn't react, but after a minute, he gently lays his head back down and places Steve's hand back by his side. 

"Sorry," Steve mumbles, feeling oddly too relaxed to be truly bothered by his own lapse of control. 

"Nothing to be sorry for," Sam tells him, moving back down his shoulders again. His fingers tease lower over Steve’s ribcage, working down and out around his sides. "You feeling okay?"

"Mmh," Steve shifts slightly, vaguely aware that Sam’s massage seems to be working on his groin already.

He barely notices Sam’s hands creeping lower above his kidneys, until he says, “You know, your spine curves a little to the left here.”

"Really?" He has to turn his head to ask. 

"Yeah," Sam pushes his head gently back down onto the make-shift cushion. "Just maybe five or, not even ten degrees. Does it give you any kind of back ache?"

"No," Steve is undeniably pleased, even though he knows his spine hasn’t change a bit from an hour ago. "Used to be twenty-four degrees. Ached all the damn time."

Bucky had given him terrible back rubs in an attempt to help him out, and the uncomfortableness of someone watching his back had usually made it even more tense.

Sam has made it to the tops of his hips, and he moves back up the length of Steve’s spine, lifting the muscles that frame it up, one by one. 

Then his fingers leave Steve for a moment, and he feels Sam’s weight dipping the bed on the other side. 

The hands find him again, one on top of the other, rubbing small circles up and down the plane of his back. 

Sam’s fingers do something delicate to his sacrum that isn’t lost on Steve’s cock. He groans into the bed and Sam moves on to his ass, beginning by pulling the muscle in from the side and rotating his hip, and then kneading it, getting closer and closer to the cleft, pressing in to feel along the sit bone.

Steve tries not to feel disappointed that he then moves down the back of his thigh to his lower leg, ankle and foot. But Sam takes his time, turning Steve’s ankle and pushing his thumbs into the sole of his foot and the thick muscle of his calf.

"How are you feeling now?" Sam asks as he moves back up, this pushing all the way up the back of his thigh and into the muscles of his ass and then working on the thigh from the inside, up and up towards his groin. 

Steve groans instead of answering as Sam’s fingers press into his abductors, knuckles brushing against his balls. 

"That a good noise?"

"Mhmm," Steve tells him, almost as relaxed as he is turned on. 

He drifts contentedly as Sam works his other leg, convinced that he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, right up until the moment Sam says, “How about we get you to turn over?” Whereupon he finally realises that Sam is going to notice his very obvious erection. 

"I, um, have a…"

Sam strokes his back, right the way down to his ass. “That’s pretty common, actually. In fact, given my specialism, I’ve only ever had two guys who didn’t. Massage activates the parasympathetic nervous system, if you care about that. Can I turn you over?”

Even though he feels self-conscious about it, Steve flips himself over, holding the towel to his front. 

Sam slides it down to just below his waist, but the tenting is obvious to say the least. 

Now Steve can see him, kneeling on his heels, shirtless and shining with sweat from the summer heat and the exertion of moving all up and down Steve’s body. Steve reaches out to touch again, feeling the ribs hidden by muscle. 

Sam doesn’t move his hand away as he leans over him and rubs his thumbs under Steve’s clavicle. 

He works all of the muscle groups in Steve’s upper body, and then slides his hands over his chest, letting his nails catch the nipples standing to rigorous attention. 

He laughs when Steve sighs. “Are those sensitive?”

Steve nods, red in the face.

"Can I touch them?" Sam asks, even though he already has.

"Sure."

Sam does, rubs them with both thumbs, making Steve roll up into it even though he’s meant to be boneless and relaxed. He can feel the towel covering the head of his cock getting damp and slick, and he can’t stop looking at Sam’s lips, can’t quite deal with the fact that they’re doing this, and he still hasn’t even kissed him.

"Looking for something?" Sam whispers, voice rough and low. He pinches Steve’s nipples and then flicks at them with oily fingers. 

"Yeah," Steve tips his head up to look Sam over again, made easier by Sam reaching out to cradle his head, which feels unreasonably heavy. He wants to ask for a kiss, but instead he finds himself face to face with Sam’s crotch, saying, "Those pants look awful tight."

"They are a little, aren’t they?" Sam lets his head fall to knead the sculpted muscle of Steve’s abs with both thumbs. "What could we do about that?"

Steve hooks his fingers into the waistband of Sam’s jeans and strokes the delicate skin underneath. “I don’t know, I think they’re a lost cause,” He replies, finding his voice again. “I reckon you should just get rid of them altogether.”

"Oh yeah?" Sam sits back on his ass to unzip his fly and shimmy out of his too-tight jeans. His cock bounces free of their confines, leaking behind a dark patch on his underwear. "That better?"

Steve lets his hand smooth over the fabric to just barely nudge the head of Sam’s dick. For a moment the entire experience of touching someone else after so long on ice seems very surreal. “Yeah, definitely an improvement.”

"I’m glad," Sam grins, swinging one knee over Steve’s hips to straddle him.

When his hands come back to Steve’s chest, he suppresses a shudder; outside of the almost dreamlike state of relaxation, he can’t quite convince himself that Sam isn’t going to take one good look at him and jump back in disgust, even though he knows that Sam has seen pretty much the whole package - well,  _except_ the package - already. 

He’s pinned down though, and somehow it’s easier to forget all that when he’s distracted by the weight of Sam’s balls against his own cock. 

Sam leans down over him, and Steve would pay to see the muscles in his stomach right now, because he’s not holding himself up with his hands - those are pushing under Steve’s arms in closed fists and then dragging down his sides. 

He tries to take in Sam’s smell, but mostly he just gets jasmine, wafting round the room and coming off his own skin.

The angle is a little clumsy, but Sam’s mouth is in range, close enough for Steve to see the tooth marks bruising his bottom lip. Steve pushes up on his elbows slightly until Sam comes to meet him, and for a moment he licks awkwardly over the outside of Sam’s mouth before it opens with a rush of air. 

"Hey," Steve grunts, pulling back a little. "Work with me, this is my first kiss since '45." 

"Alright, don’t do your back in!" Sam laughs against his mouth, pushing Steve back down by the shoulder and grinding his own hips down. His hands trail over Steve’s nipples again, and Steve is pretty sure that nipples don’t usually get this much time from a regular massage, even if it is a sexual one. 

With Steve where he wants him, Sam kisses him again, this time over his closed mouth, earning his passage with a few chaste pecks. “How are you feeling?”

"You - you do this for a day job?" Steve pants. 

"It’s not always this active," Sam bites Steve’s lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. He pushes his hips back further, the movement dispensing of Steve’s towel and bringing their cocks into line. He pulls back and lets Steve's lip pop out from between his teeth. "Not all my clients are so old and needy."

Steve thrusts up, but Sam pulls back with a disapproving noise. “You’re far too active for someone who’s meant to be relaxing. Lay back.”

Steve does, but with great reluctance as he finds Sam’s cotton-clad cock moving out of reach. Sam reaches back and spreads Steve’s legs, sinking into the gap as he creates it. 

It feels very exposed, Sam between his spread legs with the towel gone AWOL, and Steve’s heart thuds in panic even as Sam slides his hands up the insides of Steve’s thigh. 

"You didn’t answer my question," Sam tells him, pressing his thumbs into the crease where his thigh meets his groin. 

"Wh-what question?" Steve looks down in something approaching panic to see Sam gently palpitating the flesh just above his pubic bone. 

"How’re you feeling?"

"Anxious," Steve sighs, as the warm, soft hands move back to the back of his knee to lift his leg to his chest in a stretch. 

"Do you wanna stop?" Sam asks, holding Steve’s leg up with one hand as the other sweeps down the muscle with his knuckles. 

"No…" It feels good, almost too good, like his body’s been under tension for decades without him realising. "It’s just… Really vulnerable."

"Yeah, it is," Sam switches legs. "I could just grab your balls and run, man, that’s all I came for."

Steve laughs, even though he’s painfully aware that it makes his balls jump. “That’s not what I mean. Well,  _that too_ , but you know. You could do anything right now.”

"I could," Sam agrees. He kisses the inside of Steve’s left thigh. "Any requests while I’m at it?"

"I dunno, d’you think there’s anything that you could do that might keep that mouth occupied?"

Sam licks his now-oily leg wetly, and Steve jumps. “Ew! That tickles, by the way, you do that again and you’ll end up with a foot somewhere feet have no business being.”

"Sorry," Sam isn’t, but he does wipe off his own saliva with the back of his hand. "I could stop."

"If I say stop, will that stop the dribble or the massage?" Steve asks as Sam’s fingers make their way down beneath his balls. 

"Both."

"In that case, I’ll just have to…" Steve’s response turns to cotton wool in his mouth as Sam rubs his perineum in long, slow circles. Steve pulls his own legs wider, and Sam cups his balls, rolling them in their sac. He watches mutely as pre-cum beads in the slit of his cock and drips onto his belly. "There are… There are condoms in the drawer."

"Yeah?" He can  _hear_  the smirk in Sam’s voice. “And what did you want me to do with those?”

If Sam thinks Steve is afraid of dirty talk, he’s got another thing coming. “I want you to put it on your big, hard dick and fuck my asshole so hard we wake up in '45.”

"Holy shit," Sam mutters, straddling Steve again to reach the bedside table. "I never would’ve guessed to find a mouth like that on Captain America."

"Nah, that’s all Steve Rogers. Captain America sings wholesome songs and holds babies for photos," Steve says, ripping at the wrapper in Sam’s hands. "What are you doing still wearing shorts?"

"Good question," Sam has to swing his legs over the edge of the bed to take them off. Steve keeps a hold of the condom to make sure he gets his hands on that member before things get away with them.

 Sam straddles him higher up, putting barely any weight on Steve’s lower chest this time, and Steve immediately wraps his fingers around his dick. It’s long and a little darker than his body, except for the glistening, pink head. Wishing he were at a better angle to take it in his mouth, Steve strokes it a few times to get the feel of it, hot and hard and heavy, before he rolls the condom on. 

Sam nudges forward until it bumps Steve’s chin. “You want that in your tight little asshole, Steve Rogers?”

 _Don’t know about tight,_  Steve thinks to himself. He's willing to bet he's taken more cock than Sam has, even if it was the same one every time. “I want it in every hole I got before tomorrow morning. Those hands don’t seem to be massaging…”

"Huh, oh they don’t?" Sam grabs the lube from the drawer before he slides all the way down Steve’s body and spreads his legs again. The gel squirts out and misses his fingers, landing cold on Steve’s thigh. 

"Oops," Sam says as he wipes it onto his index finger. "I guess we better put them back to work, then…"

His first finger sinks in to the knuckle with no real resistance, and he hooks it up to find Steve’s prostate. “Wouldn’t want there to be any idle hands, after all.” Sam presses down on Steve’s perineum with the thumb of the same hand, rolling the sensitive gland between the two digits. 

"Oh God," Steve is going to come if he doesn’t stop them both soon, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. "Oh God, fuck, God."

"It’s Sam," Sam leaves off his sure-fire way to make Steve orgasm and adds another finger. "But I’ll answer to God if I have to."

Steve groans in frustration, letting his head fall back to the bed with a thump. “I’ll call you your majesty so long as that cock gets in my ass before I turn ninety-seven.”

"Hold on old man, I’ll be there in a second." Sam probes with a third finger, and then presumably gets the memo saying that Steve knows how to take it, because he pulls them away and his dick is there, hard and ready and pushing in. 

"That’s the problem," Steve grunts as he bears down on it, "So will I, so you best get moving."

"So impatient," Sam moans, putting both hands on Steve’s waist. He pulls them together until he’s completely on top, and sucks a mark onto the skin of Steve’s throat. 

They pick up the pace quickly, Steve’s cock being buffeted between them as he writhes to meet Sam’s thrusts. They bump teeth a few times before Sam accepts that Steve’s jaw has gone completely slack, and then he bites his own hickey on Steve’s neck, bruising it as Steve urges him faster. 

"I… Wanted this… When we first met… I could see your ass… Every time I lapped you… And I couldn’t get it out of my head… All sweaty and… And tired," Steve signs his breathless confession as his bed thumps against the wall and Sam’s dick slams all the way in. "I wanted you to… Look like that… With your… With your cock in my hole… And then I wanted you to fuck me loose… And fill me up with all your come."

Sam makes a throaty sound of agreement, bending Steve at an angle that is definitely counter productive to the massage he’d spent so much time on earlier. “Can’t believe I… Thought you were… Some kinda wholesome… Fuck! Fuck, are you?”

"Uh-huh," Steve comes all over his chest, dick throbbing and dripping as it bobs between them. He makes no noise whatsoever beyond his own ragged breathing, used to keeping quiet, but Sam moans and swears, his nails scraping over Steve’s shoulders and chest. 

"Fuck, fuck!" Sam bites him again, sloppy and hard so that when he pulls back, saliva trails between his teeth and Steve’s collar bone. 

"Come on," Steve pants, "Fill me up with your hot white—"

Come. He’s cut off by Sam’s loud, breathless moans as Sam goes rigid and then limp and they slide down the bed, his muscles refusing to hold them up any longer. 

Then there is only panting and too much body heat and the smell of jasmine and sex. 

"Whooo, I knew they called you a super soldier for a reason," Sam’s voice rumbles in his chest but comes out ragged through his sore throat. 

"Yeah, you just wait till I tell you ‘bout the whole super-healing, super-strength thing." Steve’s arms come up as though to hug Sam, but he’s suddenly caught by a fresh wave of need-to-be-dressed. "Is it okay if I..?"

"Sure," Sam says, giving no indication that he has any idea what Steve is referring to. "Whatever you want man."

Steve extricates himself from under Sam’s weight and retrieves the towel. He’s found what he wants.

**Author's Note:**

> I wonder what a certain next door neighbour thought of all this.


End file.
